


A God of Nothing

by Lemonboynme



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonboynme/pseuds/Lemonboynme
Summary: Gabriel finds purpose in the purposeless and Jack find out what it means to be a god, and vice versa.





	A God of Nothing

The sun shone warmly as a farmer began his day. His back groaned and his knees cracked, the sounds echoes in the empty space of the small bedroom. Moving about his house like a ghost, every day the same routine. It begins with lighting the cooking stove with practiced motions and sparking flint. Breakfast is short and his days are long. As always, it’s lonely in the fields and his garden. Some days he hates this peaceful routine filled life more than anything. On the days when the pain is too great and he cannot make himself stand, there is little he can do but be bitter about the fields he’s sown. Whether those fields are the metaphorical ones of life, or the physical ones outside.

 

To become bitter, to be unable to look away from the blood on his hands. Blood that would not be washed clean. An old soldier that all but the smallest children of the village avoid. He is blind to anything but the cage that has trapped him in a cycle of his own making. But there is little else to do in the empty house of an empty man.

 

Despite his melancholy thoughts he technically shared this house with his sister Ana. Though she had remained in the military despite his discharge. A leg injury that left him half dead for months and now with a permanent limp. No children, no husband or wife to occupy his time. He only had his farm; the village close to it and the forest that occupied the eastern edge of it. This was his life, and he struggled to live it

 

One year, his crops grew well in all his fields, except the one. A squash field was all but fallow, something had taken a liking to the vine and had chewed them to the quick. So, he was left with a bare section. It wasn’t a hard loss but the land felt nearly haunted, no life to be found when surrounded by it. It reminded him of himself, gods how dramatic he had grown in his misery.

 

He knew Ana had been worrying about him, and maybe she was right to worry. Especially as he began to compare himself to a lifeless field. His little sister sent him as many letters as she could manage. Most of them scolded him for being a hermit. In her latest missive she responded to the admittedly negative letter he had sent as a retort to her nagging. This one contained gentle suggestion, to leave the farm for a few days. To maybe travel into the city nearby. Give offerings at a temple, bring himself luck or something of the like. 

 

He felt guilty ignoring the well-intended advice but the plow horse was not suited for long trips and with Gabriel’s leg he could not make it on foot. Guilt piled on as he made excuses to himself, the army had taken much and given little. He had given his mind and body wholly to them. In return they gave him nightmares and had crippled his body. He could no longer stand the cramped streets of a city, too many people making him flinch and shake like a child. And what temple would he visit? What did Ana want from him?

 

He would never kneel in a temple of war; never again. Still, as the days drug on he longed for distraction. It was not hard to give into the urge. To throw himself into planning a temple with no specific god in mind. Admittedly the drafting kept him busy for some time. The plans shifting and adjusting as Gabriel tried to weigh design against practicality. 

 

In the end he must consider his limits and the temple is small, nothing much really. Though Gabriel has worked hours to dig decent foundation. He spent hours mixing mortar and placing the flat stones from his fields in structured patterns. The temple grew under his determined hands and Gabriel slept a little better at night. Visions of building plans instead of war filled his dreams more often than not. It was still hard to get out of bed some mornings. But the mornings where he did not get up at all were becoming fewer and farther in between.

 

One afternoon when approaching the half-built temple, he saw that the altar was clear of the offering he had placed there the day before. His face stretched into a small smile that pulled at the scars on his face. It's another day and he bring figs this time for his offering. It was nothing in comparison to what he used to bring to the temple of war, of the animals sacrificed and the gold left on a massive altar. It makes him feel uncomfortable and self-conscious that he is only offering figs to an unknown god. Could offering figs be offensive? His smile turned to a more familiar frown.

 

He doesn’t know what to say so he just introduces himself before setting the figs on the altar. “I know it’s not much but still, it’d be nice to know someone was looking after me” he flinched at himself for being too sappy but didn’t spend too long berating himself. The next morning, three days since the first offerings had been taken the god finally spoke up as he gave his morning prayers.

 

“You should go to the cities” it’s voice was like the sound of wind howling low and deep quietly through the treetops. “I appreciate this, truly I do. But I am not a god to pray too.” Gabriel simply cocked his head, waiting for the specter to continue. A soft gust of wind moved through the temple, a chill cut through his light linen clothing.

 

“Pray to a god that can make a difference in your short life” another sigh, this one quieter. “I’m no one really, and I don’t mean to be rude.” The ghostly outline of a man picked up a fig to roll it in his palm. “This temple could be beautiful but it will be nothing but a burden. There is nothing I could give you in return for your worship”. The defeat in his tone made something tighten in his chest. It reminded Gabriel of himself, not his old self, but the version that had seen the worst of the world and had barely survived. It made some energy he didn’t know he had risen up in him, something playful and defiant on the edge of his tongue.

 

“I don’t need you to give me anything, and you’re a god- That’s more than nothing” Gabriel unfolded his legs from under him and let them sprawl as his eyes tried to fix on the flitting outline of this god. He leaned back and stared up at it when it gave no response. “Tell me then, if it pleases you, what sort of god are you then? If you are the god of nothing?” A cloud passes over the bright midsummer sun and the inside of the temple goes dark when the god begins to whisper again.

 

“I am of the last light of the sunset” it said quietly. “The red and golden leaves and of the warm autumn wind. The bite of frost before snow and the song of the lark at the first light of dawn. Of memories half remembered in a moment before they are gone forever, of good rest after a long journey. I am of a dozen different somethings that mean nothing in the end to you” the god heaved a gentle sigh of that same warm wind as before.

 

“There is no point in worship like that, don’t you see? I am nothing like Storm, Harvest, Spring or even War. Save your prayers, good farmer. You are so small and defenseless and hurting, alone in this world of vastness and terror. You are vulnerable, you should seek the blessings of those greater than me.”

 

Gabriel had been told many times in his past life, when he was ‘General’ or ‘Gabe’, that he was incredibly stubborn. More than necessary most would say. Jesse would tell him that it was his best and worst trait. Jesse who died in his arms with hell waging around them. The god is watching, spectral eyes waiting for him to respond and maybe to leave. Much as he wants to, he does not flinch.

 

To flinch, to scream and run from the memories that would tear him to pieces again and again. So he breathes, deeply in through his mouth and nose. Tasting the warm air mixed with a refreshing chill of the god’s design.

 

“I think this worship suits me” he said, his hands fiddle with a loose thread trailing out of the hem of his shirt. “So as long as you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep on with it?” It’s probably not as meek of a question as he meant it, stubbornness burning bright behind his eyes for a moment. Maybe the god saw this because he did not continue the argument. He only let out a grumbling that nearly made Gabriel laugh.

 

“Do what you want, I cannot stop you” the gossamer outline began to fade. “But never say that I did not warn you”. He rumbled.

 

Gabriel would come to pray every morning after that, to leave offerings when he could and make plans to finish building. Then, when the temple was finished, to make small improvements. To bring a nice rug from the house to spread over the stones. Sometimes they would talk, well mostly Gabriel would talk, call out to the god he could feel around him. It was months before he saw more than an outline, heard more than a gentle voice barely above a rumbling whisper.

 

Every day it was easier to leave his bed so that he may go to pray. The repetition of his chores became soothing rather than burdensome and maddening. His talks with the god of the temple are good. Gabriel tells stories and his god rewards him with warm swirling wind and beautiful patterns in frost around the altar. Once his god calls forth a memory of his mother, laughing with his little sister tucked against her breast. Her face was much younger than he could recall it to be. It’s gone in a moment but he feels warmer than he has in years.

 

One morning there was a man waiting for him when he arrived at the temple. He wore a cream-colored tunic long enough to reach the top of his knees and belted at his waist. Blonde hair that shone like wheat in the late summer sun topped a head of unremarkable shifting features. Where his arms and hands should be, there was that gossamer thread of shifting color. It was lovely to see his god. To speak with him when his physical form was perched on the altar and subtly swinging its legs before disappearing into the stone.

 

The more offerings he gave the more solid the god became. He had no name, which came as a surprise to Gabriel. Most gods claimed dozens of names, a poisonous part of his mind offered up ‘Ares, Týr, Mars, Resheph… War’. War had taken dozens of names and faces. It soothed him to have his nameless gentle god who would speak of sunsets like they were life itself.

 

His god had shrugged in response to his disbelief. “I’ve only been a god for a little less than half a millennium” Before that I was a man, a foolish one at that. I do not remember my name any longer” As he spoke Gabriel could see that he was growing less distinct. Running from a conversation that brought him pain. Gabriel did not blame him, finishing his prayers and leaving quietly to do his chores.

 

Gabriel’s god did not remember, could not remember for more than a moment what his human life had been. That was the most his god had shared with him about himself. In the months they had spent together. Winter was coming when Gabriel politely asked if his god would like a name. He could not be named like War; his god was a dozen beautiful things equally. Not a single thing defined him. His suggestion had earned him quiet laugh and a rather playful response.

 

“Do you think to name me mortal? Is the god of nothing not fitting enough a title for me?” His god’s specter stepped behind the altar and disappeared. Autumn leaves drifted in through the windows before forming a perfect circle around Gabriel. His god was teasing and was nearly as self-deprecating as Gabriel himself could be. 

 

Winter is coming so Gabriel is busy for the next week, his god is busy too. Painting the forest until it looks to be on fire, not a single leaf retaining its previously bright green color. When it is Gabriel’s day of rest, he naturally he spends it measuring and cutting shutters and a door for the temple. It’s when he’s attaching the door that his god speaks up, filling the temple with his presence. Though curiously he hides his form, almost shy in the moment as his words rumble in the space.

 

“You are my only priest, my only worshiper. It would be within your rights to name me, good farmer.” He is quiet, but his tone is solemn. It may be wishful thinking but he thinks he hears an upturn of hopefulness in the voice? It made his heart swell to think that a god, his god would allow him such an honor.

 

He sat in quiet contemplation for a few moments searching for something right. There had only ever been another person that Gabriel had been close to that hadn’t been a subordinate. A friend who had gone through training with him. A friend that had been stolen by War. The two of them had been trapped in a burning building when attempting to rescue the people inside. Jack hadn’t made it out and there was nothing Gabriel could do. His god reminded him of Jack, mostly how he was willing to listen to him.

 

“Jack,” he says into the quiet of the temple. It’s like his god is holding in a breath. “Jack is a common enough name” His hands twist the prayer rug in short, anxious movements. “But,” he paused for a moment looking for the right words, “It was the name of a friend” he says finally, he looks to the apparition of his god. “I hope this pleases you?” A gentle wind brushes over him and the leaves that had drifted into the temple twirl around him like a dance.

 

“That it does; please me, that is.” His voice is warm, like a stone in the sun and Gabriel can feel it in his bones and he smiled wider. Today is a good day, one of many. The winter is warm that year, no snow that comes stays for long as the ground remains too warm for it to perch. Then it’s spring time again and planting begins, which is blissful. Gabriel has not been this happy in years and years.  
Which is when Storm comes, her dark clouds rolling in the sky and promising destruction. Gabriel makes it to his root cellar with a few of his neighbors crammed in with him as they hear the rain and wind tear at the house above them. In the end they live, only minor injuries in the village. His own home holds fast despite how his neighbor’s homes crumble.

 

Though what truly broke his heart was not the destruction and the loss of crop, nor that half his tiny orchard was burned or its trees overturned. His flooded fields gave him worry but it was what he saw when he looked toward his god’s temple. There on top of the hill towards the trees rested a destroyed temple. It was nearly rubble with a heavy tree branch splitting the roof in twain. It took weeks and long nights to rebuild his temple, for his god, for Jack.

 

He had just finished weaving a new roof for the temple when he heard that voice, more howl than gentle breeze today. It was like he had been frozen and only then did he melt as the breath he had been holding left him in a gust. Jack was still here, misery in his tone.

 

“Futile work” Jack whispered, not even his outline visible. It struck Gabriel in his heart, he would work harder, to see his god’s smiling face. Regardless of his words he could feel the god creep back into the temple, his presence filling the tiny space as he attached the roof.

 

“There was nothing I could do, nothing I could do to spare you.” A chill crept across the damp stone of the floor. “You should pray to another.”

 

Gabriel brushed his hands together, knocking the dirt from them. “I’ll be fine, the storm is over and done with and we’re all fine. Rebuilding only takes time and we’ll live” Doesn’t his god understand yet that Gabriel needs this temple, needs him just as much as his god needs a priest. He sighs and straightens his prayer rug.

 

“I don’t have much to offer today but I hope the repairs make up for it.” He hears Jack rattle around unhappily and his low soft sighs, but it makes him smile that the god does not leave outright. It does not take much to return to their happy routine, their long talks slowly give him back the life he was lacking in those weeks after the storm.

 

Years pass, Ana visits, once for months when she found herself pregnant. Gabriel and a midwife from the village had helped Ana bring a beautiful baby girl into the world. Gabriel was the first to hold his tiny niece as the midwife attended to Ana. A dark-haired child with a perfect wrinkled brow and strong little fingers that held fast to whatever she could grasp at.

 

After making a decent breakfast for the new mother and the departing midwife, Gabriel left Ana to feed her daughter as he fetched some soft cloth. It was quick work to cut and sew until he had a passable sling. So, when Ana’s eyes began to droop around mid-morning; still exhausted from the birth, Gabriel eased the baby from her arms and tucked her into the sling.

 

Together they made their way up a well-worn path. Jack had not appeared to Ana when she had visited the temple with Gabriel in the weeks before. Though he did wonder if Jack would mind the presence of the baby. He had understood before that gods do not usually appear to their acolytes. Only once at the height of his devotion did war appear before he and a dozen other generals. So he knew that their relationship was not the norm, before he had thought it was just the gods loneliness that made him reach out as often as he did. Though he had not once appeared when Ana had followed him up the stone path.

 

He prayed and put his offerings on the altar, it was only when he went to leave that he could feel Jack creeping into the temple. Towards the side of the altar was Jack, more solid than Gabriel had ever seen him. The face that was more often than not a shifting mess of indescribable features had settled. Jack had grey-blue eyes, like the frost he commanded he was all but stunned when his own brown eyes met them. He held still as Jack approached, Fareeha who had been asleep against his chest woke with a little gurgle. The god leaned close and pressed solid looking lips to the forehead of the child and Jack turned and disappeared into the stones without a word.

 

It was several minutes until he could make himself leave and return to Ana. His god was a generous one though he always claimed he had little to give. Gabriel could only imagine what kind of blessing Jack had given his little niece. It’s nearly a year before Ana returns to the war and the father of her child. Gabriel felt healed, the time with his sister, her baby and Jack seemed to be what he needed to recover from what was left of the great pain in his heart.

 

Months later Jack sheepishly admitted to him that he had known Gabriel would bring the new child. That his intention he had been to say a blessing of some kind, unsure that any actual blessing would come from it. Though that plan had fallen through when he had been drawn to kiss the infant's forehead. It was funny how in moments like these Gabriel saw humanity, a god who fumbles for words. A god who does not truly understand the power her held but his instinct was to use it to bless a helpless thing like Ana’s daughter. It was one thing to be kind, it was another to do kindness without thought simply because it was natural. It touched his heart to think of it.

 

Even with Ana and her baby gone he held onto the peace he’d achieved with them. His anger was a forgotten thing and he was more content than ever in his new life. A life where he would sometimes sit for hours in the temple meditating even if Jack did not arrive. His neighbors smiled at him now, young and old. They knew him now as a friendlier man, one who wasn’t afraid to make small talk in the market or invite neighbors to use the temple if they wished. He was open and friendly and his old bitterness was left behind like a forgotten book gathering dust. Some villagers left offerings themselves to Gabriel’s god. This itself was enough to make him smile, good years. Then came the year that the harvest failed.

 

The fields were barren and stomachs empty, Storm came again and again and it seemed that their gods abandoned them. His wheat scarcely sprouted and what came of it was brittle and lean. The village was dying around him and it seemed that there was little hope.

 

On a day, deep into the Famine, after Gabriel had given the last of his food to his field helper he goes to the temple. She was an orphan who had no name but begged for work and preyed on his old heart. He did not blame her, she was smart and young and he was an old soldier. Her gaunt face made his stomach twist with more than hunger, he was glad that Ana and her daughter were in the city, safe and fed.

 

When he goes to kneel he’s thinking of them when he sees a shadow move from the corner of his eye. It was coming from a huddled figure in the corner, Jack was there. Those kind eyes and face were hidden and tucked into his knees. Gabe sits in his normal position and waits. There’s no way that Jack was not blaming himself. Every little thing seemed to worry him and make him pull away. Gabriel had become a patient man through this friendship. He strongly suspected he would need that to gentle the god down from whatever cross he had hung himself. Nearly an hour goes by before the shape in the corner speaks up.

 

“There isn’t anything I can do, I can’t- I’ve tried-” his god choked on the sorrow, as his hands pulled at golden hair.

 

“Nothing to be done.” he spits. “What is this temple to you but another burden that you cannot bear.” the god all but moans. The mortal sits, cold stone soothing to the pain in his leg.

 

“I-” Gabriel breathed. “It has been a lean year” He stretched and began to massage the ache in his leg so he would not have to look to Jack. “We’ve had those before, the storms have come and gone. So, what, we’ll be hungry.” His own frustration with Jack creeps into his tone, how could he think that Gabriel would abandon him now? After everything? Still he tries to calm himself and give his god reason to put his fear to rest.

 

“We still have each other, don’t we? And everyone prayed to their gods, even the most powerful of them did nothing. We are still hungry” He shook his head and straightened the rug under him and set the flower he had brought to rest on the altar. He gestures to his somewhat diminished body “None of this is your fault.” The temple goes icy cold and Gabe only just barely avoids flinching as cold wind bites at his face.

 

Never once had he been afraid of his god, his friend, of Jack. But in a moment that shadow that cloaked his friend, rose up with the god as he drew himself to his full height. A looming figure, taller than his own six feet. In this moment he felt a bit of worry but he pushed it aside, the god cared about him, about them.

 

“There will come worse” warned the god, his face a mess of shadow and his hair snow white,the golden hair gone. “There will be worse and there will be nothing! Nothing that I could do to save you, mortal.” his figure blurred further and Gabriel could not help but to reach out, irrational and emotional he does not give enough thought to this action.

 

Where his own weather brown skin met the crisp white of Jack’s exposed shoulder it burned with cold but his god stilled under the touch. Familiar pale eyes were emerging from darkness, his face twisted in a grimace of grief. It hurt but he reached to cup the gods face, his hand burned with frost. Cold so frozen that it burns. They stare and keep staring, then suddenly Jack is gone, retreating into the stones. Something he has grown to hate.

 

They live through the famine, just barely, but they do live. Jack comes to the temple more after his long absence, a silent apology as far as Gabe was concerned. The years pass like water in a stream, he never takes a spouse and devotes himself to his god. Jack is the comfort he knows and he gives his life gladly to expanding that temple, making it as permanent as possible and offering his worship to his god.

 

He grows older, brown skin wrinkles and Gabriel walks with a cane more often than not. Ana had died years ago, killed in the war she had devoted herself to. Her daughter visits as the leaves change but then leaves when the fighting calls her back. Too young but she has a fire in her eyes that is so familiar it’s painful. He hasn’t lost much of his old strength, but next to his niece he feels diminished. To tell the truth, he does not mind so much.

 

It’s a day when he’s waiting for her to visit, she always comes in the fall when his god has little time for him. Gabe already looked forward to it, sitting in the rocking chair on his front porch. It’s there that he sees it, there is black smoke rising in the distance. War has come to the small village and there is nothing they can do to stop it.

 

He has hidden for years, in this quiet place. From the war that never seemed to end, that has taken nearly everything from him. Nearly everything. He would defend what he has left with his last breath. War had failed to take his life as a young man and now it had come for him. Across wine dark sea and fallow field, it came to claim what was owed. He traded his cane for a sword, old armor fitting loosely, he set his animals free and headed towards the village on his only horse. Damn him if he let war take anything else from him.

 

Gabriel stumbled towards the temple, the village below was burning but he smiled as he finally reached the stone of the path. Sword held him up in place of cane and his hand pressed tight to his stomach, keeping his insides in to the best of his ability. He had once been one of North army’s best and he hadn’t forgotten any of his training. Medical or otherwise, all of which indicated that he did not have long.

 

He had cut down the small party that had come to plunder the village. A few young men stood at his side and followed the orders he barked. He could be proud of that, despite his coming full circle, unable to shake the soldier, this soldier had given the village and the surrounding farm enough time to flee into the deep wood. There would be more when the others did not return and Gabriel knew he was breathing his last. So, he all but crawled towards the sanctuary he built, to the god he devoted himself to. To the god he loved.

 

When he reached the temple, his sword had no soft dirt to sink into so it struck the stone and slipped from his hand in a clatter. He falls, slumping to the floor without the support of it. The sword falls down the steps of the temple, and in that moment he is fiercely glad for it despite the pain. It had no place in the life he had built for himself, specifically this sanctuary. He moved forward into the temple so that he could touch the stone of the altar. Even without a prayer he could feel Jack’s presence fill the temple the way it did when Jack met him in the temple.

 

The god is a strange sight, there is no golden glow or gentle wind. His form is muted, his tunic as black as a summer’s night. It’s when he kneels next to Gabe that his golden hair starts to burn, he squints against the way that Jack’s form seemed to struggle to keep its shape. Godly light absolutely pouring out of cracks that formed and filled, a lightning show across his body. He worries for a moment, not for his own wounds but for what would happen to his god after he died. He wished suddenly that he could have some supernatural power to stop the crystalline tears he saw beginning to spill from clear blue eyes.

 

Jack cried and hovered by his side, careful not to touch. So, with the last of his strength he reached out and pulled Jack close to him. The pain that came with the touch was welcome as the numbness of death crept through him. He rested his head against Jack’s chest. A damn seemed to break and suddenly Gabriel found himself being held close. Mournful apologies were whispered feverishly into his ear. Shushing the god, he turned his head and weakly reached up to cup a luminescent cheek. Jack tried to press a cold hand to the worst of his wounds, their eyes met and with his shaking hand he gently pushed the god’s away. A calm feeling washed over him, even as his breathing became fast and shallow. It was almost a peaceful happiness. No longer could he feel his legs, the cold kept spreading. He smiles.

 

“I’m sorry” He wheezes, his death will do no good for the progress he made with his god. His god weeps, tears that crumble into frost, he sweeps it away with his shaking thumb. The sun is setting over the burning town and the last of its rays settle over the pair as Gabriel breathes his last.

 

The moment Death took Gabriel’s soul from the temple, Jack turned more ghost than god. Still he used what was left of his power to bury Gabriel. Hours were spent struggling with tears and how his physical body kept dissipating while he tried to bury his only priest under the altar that man had built. It had only been a few hours but he felt Gabriel’s loss more keenly than he’s felt anything since he was human.

 

Grief traps him, he can’t leave, can’t let the old temple go to rot despite the lack of accolades, offerings or prayers. Haunting this lonely temple and anchored to the earth like no god had any right to be.  
That was really the problem wasn’t it? That he was unable to fulfill his duties and leave his temple because he had attached a great part of himself to the area. Gabriel, who was stubborn and wonderful often insisted that Jack not visit so much because he had to attend to his duties as a god. How often had Gabriel complimented him, debated him on the worthiness of his talents. He missed Gabriel, he missed feeling like he was a god of something.

 

He spends twenty years stubbornly leaving the temple as much as he could until he no longer felt trapped there. Still, he would return to the temple to visit Gabriel’s grave. It was almost funny how he all but became an accolade of Gabriel’s, bringing flowers and other offerings to his grave. It wasn’t worship, or maybe it was. There’s a hole in him where good conversation, jokes and warm smile should be, he tries not to think of it.

 

Throwing himself into his work, he paints the leaves and thinks about the way Gabriel would smile in the fall. He warms the air around a child as she plays enjoying the days as they grow shorter. He thought of the sharp relief of Gabriel’s ribs against skin nearly a hundred years ago. So he trails sharp frost behind him, ensuring that the root cellar kept cold and the food preserved.

 

The little village eventually grew into a large town and revived itself years after the Great War had finished. He had visitors by the dozen who somehow knew him, who asked for a glimpse of a loved one’s face, for a pleasant memory that had been half forgotten. He thinks of how Gabriel would smile to see the altar he built piled with a lovely assortment of small offerings.

 

One day, nearly three centuries from the day that he had been called to the simple stone altar he now sat in front of. He did not see it fit to make himself physical so often but there had been many visitors to the temple as of late and he had energy to spare. So, he enjoyed the warmth of a mid afternoon sun as it had almost begun to dip below the trees.

 

He heard it before he saw it, the sound of boots on the stone path that climbed the hill to the temple. He had thought there would be no more visitors that day, briefly he considered disappearing, no one had seen him so fully formed in half a hundred years. But still he waited, the sun shining too brightly to see the figure that approached. A familiar voice called out.  
“Hail and well met” called a strong voice. Gabriel- it was Gabriel!

 

He flew to the man and found that when he pulled him close that this was no mortal form or worse, some kind of trickery. Gabriel had become a god.  
“what, how? -“

 

“Let me explain.” Smiling brown eyes met icy ones again “Actually, let me introduce myself” Gabriel nodded, this form was not of his final moments but of the first moments they spent together. He missed the grey that had dusted his curly hair.

 

“Gabriel” he whispered confused but still elated with the sight of his face.

 

“I am of stubbornness and the peace that comes from a well lived life. Of devoted love, and mended hearts.” Gabriel paused, looking unsure. “I’ve come home… If that’s alright with you?” instead of answering those old remembered words; Jack surged forward, because he could be Jack again. He enthusiastically embraces Gabe, even steals a quick kiss. He could do those things because he no longer had to remember Gabriel, he was right there with him.

 

In the years to come people would tell the story of Gabriel, a man hunted by war and his own demons that found himself building a temple. A temple, that even he did not know would come to inhabit it. Even then he stubbornly became the only priest of a reluctant god. So devoted he became that he died in that very temple, cradled by the god he served. Once, he had been one of the greatest generals to command the west army. The underworld stood no chance as he cut his way through, making a path to his goal. 

 

There were whispers, how did a man like that move death itself. Some said it was that he pressed a blade to her throat and she had been impressed. Granting him a boon in exchange. Others would say that he had approached the throne and told the story of the story of a man. A man who had found love, love in a tiny temple he had built with his own hands. That when he finished his tale, Death had been moved to tears, granting him godhood so that he may return to his great love. Few knew the truth, despite how close they came to guessing. 

Even fewer knew that the stubborn man had simply asked please. “Please, I can’t leave him behind”. How Death had smiled and granted his wish. For she knew the god Gabriel spoke of and she knew the true power of nothing. How all things on this world came from nothing. As well as how important “nothing” could grow to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with sadoeuphemist's response to the writing prompt on tumblr that read "Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up." so I wrote my own version for Gabriel and Jack. 
> 
> I also can't figure out how to embed links so here's the full link to the story http://sadoeuphemist.tumblr.com/post/169919776656/writing-prompt-s-temples-are-built-for-gods


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